


Watch It Burn and Rust

by ResidentHesitant



Category: Sally Face (Video Games)
Genre: First Meetings, Gen, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Post-Apocalypse, Soft Apocalypse, Wilderness Survival, past bullying
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-13
Updated: 2020-01-13
Packaged: 2021-02-25 12:34:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,984
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22236208
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ResidentHesitant/pseuds/ResidentHesitant
Summary: Two years after the world ends, a girl stumbles upon Sal's secluded little house in the woods.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 10





	Watch It Burn and Rust

When the world went to hell, some people were ready. Some people lived in isolated areas with their own gardens and food sources. Some people holed up in warehouse stores and survived off the food staples seen there until they ran out. By then, things were a little less hellish.

When the world went to hell, some people got sick. Others didn’t. The sickness was what sent the world to hell, anyway.

When the world went to hell, Addison Apartments was not the best place to stay. Some of the residents died. Others left. A couple of people stayed in the apartments. Sal didn’t.

Before the world went to hell, there was a biking trail that went north through the state, and further still. It was this path that Sal found himself walking once the panic had died down. He never made it very far each day, only a few miles, the rest of the time spent looking for food or searching for somewhere safe to stay the night. He camped in an auto repair shop for a night, but the smell of gasoline made him sick, and it wasn’t like he was driving, anyway. He had never learned. A day or two later, he found himself in an odds-and-ends clothing repair place with an apartment above it. They still had non-perishables in the cabinets; the food weighed down Sal’s backpack, but it was worth it. It was nice to have a bed that night, but he couldn’t stay there.

He eventually did settle down, though, maybe three months later, once it started to get too cold to stay out all night. Along the trail, where it went deep into the woods and by a stream, Sal found a house. It seemed almost too perfect. It’s not like many people lived in the towns surrounding Nockfell; it’s not like many people lived in Nockfell at all. The house still had most of its furnishings, it wasn’t torn to pieces and the windows weren’t broken. Best of all, there was a bicycle in the shed. It was, in Sal’s opinion, terribly convenient and amazingly lucky. But nobody came back for the house. No one tried to break in, no one tried to claim the property, no one tried to kill him or rob him or get him to leave. 

He set up a garden with seeds from the local garden center. When spring came, he found all of the edible plants. He was, in the best of ways, surviving. It did get lonely, though. He missed his mom. He missed his dad, too. He missed his friends from school, even though they’d all lost communication before things went bad. At least the stray cat he’d found in the first few days stuck around long enough to Sal to give him a name.

For the end of the world, it didn’t feel like many things had changed.

* * *

The trees slowly started to reclaim the trail. By the second year, the stones and pavement near Sal’s house are covered in moss. It would be unlikely for someone to stumble across his corner of the woods.

That’s why it’s weird when someone stumbles across his corner of the woods.

He’s not necessarily busy when she arrives. It’s a relatively normal day: feed Gizmo, check the food supply, water the garden. He’s watering the garden, humming a small tune, when he hears rustling in the woods. It’s a louder rustling than a squirrel would make, more than a rabbit.

“Shit!”

Rabbits and squirrels usually don’t swear, either. There’s a figure coming through the woods, purple against the forest’s green. The figure tripped over something, likely a root or a big piece of asphalt that had fallen away. The figure was still coming towards Sal’s house. Sal wasn’t wearing his mask. He hadn’t worn his mask in a while.

It’s hard to keep dignity in the apocalypse; more often than not, you’re stuck eating weird stuff or slogging through mud or whatever. It wasn’t very dignified for Sal to run as fast as he reasonably could into his house and slam the door. It’s not like there are any people out here. It’s not like Sal has a mirror in his home. It’s not like Gizmo gives a fuck. Shit, it’s the apocalypse - if you’re all messed up, it’s kind of par for the course! Shit, fuck, someone’s coming. 

Sal finds his mask hanging over the stove, only slightly dirty from his last trip out. The note beside it reads, “ _ Get more propane!! _ ” in red ink. He fastens the mask quickly, some hair falling out of his ponytail in his haste. 

Looking out the window, he sees her: there’s a young woman in a purple shirt and black leather jacket cautiously coming up to his front door. She kneels by the plants in the garden, staring at the watering can and trowel left beside the tomatoes. After a moment, Sal gets tired of waiting. The girl has a rifle over her shoulder, but she isn’t holding it in any way that could cause him immediate harm. He’ll hedge his bets, what’s the worst that could happen.

Sal opens the door slowly, letting the hinges intentionally squeak so that she knows he’s here. She startles, pulling a knife from her belt and staring at him with narrow, wary eyes. This is going to be a disaster. Maybe appearing with a scarred face would be better than appearing with a mask with no expression and seemingly soulless eyes. He raises his hands to show he means no harm, keeping his eyes on the girl and closing the door behind him. It takes a few tries, but Sal manages to speak, voice rusty with disuse.

“Hi.”

The girl squints at him further. “Hey,” she says, not moving from her defensive position.

“Who are you?” 

“I could ask you the same thing.” Okay, sure. He’ll bite, might as well.

“I’m Sal, I live here,” he says, keeping his voice level. It would make this worse, Sal thinks, if he were to stutter or stumble over words. “What’s your name?”

“...” The girl stands up, brushing a loose strand of short brown hair out of her eyes. Sal self consciously does the same, almost surprised when his fingers hit the plastic of his mask instead of his face. “...Ash,” she says.

“Nice to meet you, then.”  _ It’s been so long since he’s seen a person. _ “Are you looking for something?”  _ This is how to be polite, right?  _

“Food.” She glances at the garden around them. Sal sighs. Yeah. Yeah, okay, he’s got extra, he doesn’t need  _ all  _ of this. And there’s extra dried stuff in the cabinet. He can share, it won’t kill him. She’s alone, after all.

“If you put the knife down,” he starts, still fixed on the blade in Ash’s hand, “I’m sure we can come to an agreement.” Ash seems to consider this for a second, before putting her knife back into her belt.

“I’ll use it if you try anything,” she says, staring down at him, eyes cold. Sal nods, motioning for Ash to follow him into the house. 

Sal likes to think he keeps his house nice. Maybe even nice enough for visitors, if he ever got any of those. He leads Ash to the kitchen, motioning for her to sit at the table, and moves to put up a pot of water for tea. He fumbles with the lighter, feeling Ash’s eyes on him. There’s still enough gas in the stove, the spark from the lighter eventually catching the gas in the burner. The tea kettle isn’t too busted up, only a couple dents here and there. He sits across from Ash once it’s up and heating. Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad. She did threaten him with a knife, and she does think that he might try something, but she also towers over him, maybe it won’t be so bad. 

“So,” Sal says.

“So,” Ash says, one eyebrow raised. 

“Are you alone?” Start simple. This will be fine. Sal tugs at one of his earrings.

“Scouting party. Everyone else went further on, but I thought I saw something in the woods.”  _ No _ , she means. Sal bites his lip beneath the mask;  _ there are more of them, _ she means.

“Where are you coming from?”

“The church.”

“Phelps Ministry?” Ash nods stiffly, looking away. “Is Pastor Phelps still there?” She grimaces; Sal takes that as a yes. The church was, if Sal read the maps correctly, maybe ten miles away. Close enough to the high school that Travis would walk. Shit, Travis. “....Is Travis there?” Ash looks up.

“How do you know Travis?” she says.

“High school,” Sal says, rolling his eyes, “Is he still a total dick?” Ash breathes out a laugh, and Sal smiles to himself. “At least some things haven’t changed.” 

“Seems to follow every rule his dad puts in place. Goody two-shoes kinda bully, y’know?” Sal rolls his eyes again. He knows, alright.

“What is it you’re looking for?” Sal asks, “Other than just ‘food,’ of course.”

“Our farming section got hit by bandits, so the Pastor sent us to hunt and find seeds and stuff. Old supermarkets with unexpired goods, if they’re still out there. They’re still trying to fix the farms, but a good section of crops got, for lack of a better word, fucked up.” The kettle starts to whistle on the stove. Sal gets up and turns the gas off, getting out two not-so-chipped mugs.

“Would you like tea?” He takes the container of tea out of the cabinet, scooping some of the mixture into his own mug.

“What kind?” 

“Rosehip and raspberry. I have honey and some sugar, as well.” He pours the water into his mug, the steam wafting up. 

“Sure,” Ash says. Sal busies himself with her mug, making sure the ratio of tea leaves to water is even, and getting the sugar and honey out of the cabinet. “Why are you wearing that mask?” Sal almost drops the honey.

“Wh- what?” he says, voice a little too high.

“Your mask. It looks like something out of a horror movie.” 

“Gee. Thanks.” Sal passes Ash her mug of tea and a spoon to mix in the honey and sugar and sitting down. He takes a spoonful of sugar for his own tea, watching it dissolve in the hot water. “... There was an accident and I didn’t want to scare whoever was wandering into my garden with my real face.” 

“You’ll have to take it off to drink your tea, won’t you?” She stirs her tea, and Sal sighs. “And, the world’s over. How bad could it be?” That’s fair. After a moment of reluctance, Sal reaches back, undoing the buckles of his mask, hissing when they catch in his ponytail. He puts the mask face up on the table, looking up at Ash. She’s not looking away, which is a start.

“Pretty bad?” he says, shaking his bangs over his eyes. Maybe he could cover up part of it, and she wouldn’t be so grossed out. She takes a long sip of her tea before putting the mug down.

“I’ve seen worse,” she says finally. What a charmer. Sal takes a sip of his tea, still tense. 

“How badly does your group need food?”

“We have enough. Good amount of corn flour left, and the animals are still doing pretty well, but we might have to ration a lot unless things get better.”

“And how many people do you have?” 

“Around a hundred. Everything’s based out of the church, but we live in the other buildings nearby.” Shit, a hundred people. People Sal might know. And Travis is definitely there. Fuck.

“...Right.” There’s that old panic again. “I don’t think I can help you that much. It’s just me out here. But if you need an extra forager…” He pauses. “What are the rules like?”

“Pastor Phelps runs a pretty tight ship, but it’s not like he makes us worship or anything. A lot of people do, though. Pretty strict curfews.” Sal nods along, not hearing most of what she says, taking this opportunity to drink the majority of his tea. “Everyone’s divided up into parties where they’d be the most useful, too, so--” Sal puts his cup down a little too quickly, the sound a little too loud. “Uh, are you…?” He secures and buckles his mask, shoulders releasing some tension. Certainly not all, but some.

“I’m fine,” he says. Ash purses her lips but continues.

“It seems like you’re doing pretty well for yourself out here, is what I’m trying to say. And you might be able to teach us some stuff? Maybe Pastor Phelps would let you stay in the settlement, as well.” That. Sounds like a terrible idea. Sal has no idea why he nods in response, despite his throat getting tight.

“Yeah, that sounds…” What the fuck is he doing? “...good.” 

“You seem hesitant,” Ash says, finishing off her tea.

“It’s been a while since I’ve seen other people. In crowds, that is.” Crowds. Shit, there might be crowds. This is going to be a disaster. Ash seems to accept this, nodding and rising. She puts her mug in the sink. Sal actually… appreciates that. 

“The hunting party is going to regroup soon about a mile from here, by the old farm,” Ash says, “You’re welcome to come with. We all have bikes, it'll be easier to get you there if you have one.” Sounds as good a deal as any. Sal traces the rim of his mug with a finger.

“I’ll need to get a bag together,” he tells the dregs of his tea leaves.

“Will that take long?”

“No.” They’re both quiet. 

Sal stands and pushes his chair in, wood scraping against wood, and puts his mug in the sink beside Ash’s. They seem to watch each other as Sal exits the kitchen and goes up the stairs. The deep blue bedspread looks terribly inviting after this interaction. But Sal can’t do that. He instead puts a few necessities into a soft leather satchel he found in an abandoned house. Pocket knife, regular knife, lighter. Compass and canteen, iodine tablets. Toothbrush and hair ties and a change of clothes, too, even if it makes Sal feel like he’s going to a sleepover. Gizmo rubs against his leg and meows at him.

“Hey, bud,” he says, leaning down to pet Gizmo, “You can manage without me for a few days, right?” Gizmo meows at him again and hops onto the bed. “Yeah, I know, you did it before you found me.” Another meow. “Alright, good. I’ll see you then, Giz.” Gizmo chirps at Sal and kneads at the bed before settling down. Things will be fine. 

He goes back down the stairs, wood creaking under his feet. Ash is standing by the sink, the two mugs used for tea upside down on the towel Sal uses to dry dishes. His watering can and trowel are on the table, as well. 

“You left them outside,” Ash says when she sees Sal staring.

“Thank you,” Sal says in return. He grabs his keys and slips them into the satchel, and readjusts his ponytail. No time like the present. “Lead the way.”

Ash leads him out of the house (he grabs his bike and locks the door), through the garden (everything looks watered), and onto the path. They head south. The sun is golden and reflects off the marsh-like waters nearby. After a few minutes of walking, they come across one of the rusted benches that dot the trail. This one has a brass placard in it, bearing a name.

“You didn’t grow up here, did you?” Sal asks, and Ash shakes her head, “This woman lived in my apartment building. We all thought she was about a million years old.”  _ Alyson Rosenberg _ , the placard reads,  _ Mentor and friend.  _ “Turns out she was only about ninety-six.” The marsh looks kind of pretty at this time of day. It’s one of Sal’s favorite spots to sit when there’s not much else to do. They continue walking. Slowly conversation picks up. What was Travis like in high school? (“A total dick.”) Where are you from? (“A few towns west of here.”) What brought you to Nockfell? (“I could ask you the same thing.”)

There is a small garden not far from the old farm where Ash stops. She’s staring westward, towards the sun, at the stretches of power lines above them and the towers holding them up. They reach for the sky and run to the horizon in either direction. Sal would have followed it if the trail had not already been there. Ash seems transfixed, staring out at the view as if she had some cosmic realization. Sal felt the same way the first time he saw it. 

“I didn’t get a chance to look at this before,” she says, “It’s amazing.” Some of the wires have snapped over time, hanging limp between towers. It doesn’t break the scene though. The bird’s nests and rust make it a little more beautiful. 

Sal starts to respond, maybe something about how he found it while biking at fifteen, but there’s a sound from further down the path. Someone emerges from the side of the woods. They’re tall, with long hair and a bucket full of what appears to be berries in one hand. Ash seems them, too.

“Hey!” she calls, “Larry! Hey!” The someone, Larry, turns, and waves at Ash. “C’mon,” she says to Sal, “If Larry’s found that many berries, then he’s got some good news for the rest of us.” She’s smiling now, and starts to walk ahead to join this Larry guy. Sal follows closely, but not too closely. Something could come of this. Sal's just not sure he's ready for whatever that something could be.

**Author's Note:**

> so uh. i wrote this after really missing my hometown but kind of lost interest in writing it once i got home. i might finish this completely, like, with the plot and other characters and stuff but im not feeling it at the moment, despite really wanting to. im @probablypartypoison on tumblr, if yall are interested in a majority mcr blog. please comment/kudos if you liked it/have something to say! i have more of this but don't know if its, y'know, _good_ , but i might look it over again and make it good in the future.


End file.
